CMBYN: Never Forget You
by impossibleboy1990
Summary: A short story sequel to the movie, but that wasn't an option on here. Elio and his parents journey to America to attend Oliver's wedding, where Elio must come to terms with the fact that the love he's known may very well be over.


Spring, 1984

"Everything okay back there, Elly Belly?" my dad's voice calls, shaking me out of my reverie.

"Huh? What?" I slide my Walkman's headphones down, exposing my ears to the balmy spring afternoon.

"He asked if you are okay," my mother interjects, her strong Italian accent bringing me back home, to our villa in Lombard, to last summer, where my life was changed irrevocably by the arrival of an enigmatic American, one that I would grow to be fond of, one to whom I'd open even my deepest, darkest recesses, bearing my soul in a way that I never had before. He'd loved me and left me and now he's getting married. Today, he is getting married.

"I'm fine, I guess," I say, not quite sounding as assured as I'd like to, but how can I? The man I love is marrying someone else today and even though I'd known deep down when he'd left that it would be the end of us, I could still hope, still dream that one day he'd return for me and we would pick up where we left off, but now, now the ending is not only clear, but nigh, as well.

I've been preparing myself for this moment since last December, when he'd called to wish us a happy Hanukkah and let me know that he was getting married. It had hurt, of course, but I'd let him off the hook. I want him to him be happy, I just wish it were me making him happy and not this mystery woman that he's been seeing on and off for a few years. He'd even asked if I mind. Of course, I mind, of course I fucking mind!

I'd been surprised the day that the wedding invitation came in the mail. That had hurt me almost as much as the phone call, because there it was, in black and white in front of me, spelling it all out. There was no denying that it was real now.

Mom and Dad had been delighted, of course. As much as they love me, they had also grown to love Oliver during his summer with us. How could they not? He's charming and handsome and wildly intelligent; I believe that everyone who meets him comes to regard him very highly. I hadn't intended to fall for him, I'd certainly never been interested in a guy before, but when we had finally consummated our affair after a whole summer of arduous, intense foreplay, it had been the best sex of my life. I still feel bad about hurting my friend, Marzia, but I could never care for her like I'd cared for Olliver; like I still care for Olliver.

When we'd gotten the invitation, Mom and Dad had left it up to me whether or not we go. We've been hosting graduate students at our villa for as long as I can remember; we've grown close to some, not so much with others, but never have we had this conundrum before. Perhaps to prove to myself that I could be an adult, or perhaps to show my parents that I'm fine, I insisted that we should go. After all, Oliver had come to mean so much to all of us, and not being there to celebrate his big day just didn't seem right after all we'd shared.

Now, we're in our rental car, on the way to the church and I am regretting my decision on a colossal fucking scale! I don't want to meet her, I don't want to see him happy, with her, see their lips pressed together, their bodies entwined as ours had been that summer. It's still too new to me, too raw. As much as I've tried to move on in the months since Oliver went back to America, I haven't been able to fully rid myself of him. At night, I can still feel his lips on mine, his hands exploring my body with a fierce, wild hunger that seared my soul and left me spiraling.

I can feel my lips tingling now, at the thought of it, and my hand unconsciously finds it way to my bottom lip, gently rubbing it. _Elio_, I think, closing my eyes. _Elio, Elio, Elio, Elio, Elio, Elio, Elio._

After we'd made love the first time, he'd asked me to call him by my name, declaring to call me by his. At the time, I hadn't quite grasped what he meant, but had gone along with it, eager to do anything to make him smile, to make him stay with me just one minute longer. Of course, now, I know, or at least, I think I know, what he meant. In calling each other by the other's name, we were mirroring ourselves, opening ourselves up in the realest way we could, our two identities blending together in an amalgamation of passion and sweat.

I feel myself growing hard and stop, opening my eyes again. There is no time for that today; today is about paying respects and putting the final nail in the coffin of our affair. After today, it will be officially done. I'm not sure how I feel about that, or if I'll ever be able to love someone as purely and wholly as I'd loved Olliver. Does he still think of me? When things get rough with his wife will he think of me, remember our time fondly and long to go back?

I have no doubt in my mind that what we experienced together was love, and it wasn't just on my end. He had been as besotted as I, there is no arguing that. My only regret about that summer is that we wasted so much time avoiding each other and trying to fight our feelings. We got barely a week together, really together, before he'd gone home; if we'd given in right away, we'd have gotten six full weeks to explore each other's bodies and leave lasting imprints on them for future lovers to see and envy. Never before had there been a love like ours.

My dad pulls the car into an empty parking space a kills the engine. I smile. Back in Italy, he can't go anywhere without our gardener, Anchise there to help navigate, and yet, here he is, navigating the streets of America mostly unaccompanied. I don't remember what state we're in, but it's pretty. The spring has been kind to the Earth. The grass grows strong, the trees alight with the green of vitality. I've always liked the spring the best of the four seasons: summer is hot and miserable, fall, cool and depressing as everything withers and dies, and winter, winter is a barren cesspool that drags on forever, taking even the smallest joy out of anything.

"We're here!" my father professes grandiosely, his face alight with excitement.

"The drive wasn't so bad," my mother says, unfastening her seatbelt.

We clamber out of the car and I catch my reflection in the mirror of the car. My black, curly hair is as unruly as ever, but somehow, it does not take away from the black tuxedo that I'm wearing. I'm not overly fond of suits, but this one is new and it fits me like a glove.

"You look handsome, Elio," my mother says with a warm smile. I catch her eye and nod gratefully. She knows how hard this is for me, and although she won't say it, I know that she is proud of me for facing this. I just hope that I can keep it together and not embarrass myself. I haven't seen him since August and although I'd spent the time after our lovemaking staring at him, trying to burn his features into my memory forever, his face has grown slightly fuzzy in my reminiscences. I wonder how much he'll have changed since we said goodbye at the train station in Clusone.

The other guests are filing into the white steepled church and we follow along, like a flock of birds flying south for the winter. I haven't been to a church before, as we are Jewish, but so is Oliver, so he must be marrying someone out of the faith, not that it matters.

With each step up, I can feel my heart start to beat faster and faster. I keep my face collected, but inside I am a mess of nerves and anxiety. What will I say to him when I see him? What will he say to me? Will our reunion be awkward or will I be welcomed with open arms and meaningful, stolen looks? My mind is awhirl with all of the possibilities and unanswered questions.

On autopilot, we make our way into the church proper and sit down in a pew in the middle of the wooden sanctuary. Everywhere around is Jesus: Jesus on the cross, Jesus with the children, the baby Jesus. I've never understood Christians and their preoccupation with Jesus; he wasn't the son of God, so why put him up on a pedestal?

I tap my feet nervously as the church quickly fills up around us. It appears that Oliver has a big family, or his bride does, and we're lucky to have gotten seats. I look around, and note that every seat is occupied and, in most pews, people are sitting as closely together as possible. I'm grateful that our pew is not so constricted; bodily contact with strangers has never been my forte.

It's not long before he comes out, resplendent in his black suit and tie. His face is unchanged, his blue eyes and white teeth shining brightly. His sandy blond hair has been trimmed, but it suits him, lending him a more stylish, mature look. He's only twenty-five, but he looks the part of an academic.

I watch as he greets a few people and then he looks out among the crowd and his eyes immediately fall upon me. My heart leaps into my throat and I'm sure that my face grows red, embarrassment and nerves getting the better of me.

He smiles and I find my lips tugging into one, too, as if of their own accord. There's a pleasant twinge in my chest at this; I imagine that dopamine begins to flood my brain, making me delirious. He raises his hand in a wave and I wave back, grinning ear to ear now. Part of me was worried that he'd see me out here and be upset, not wanting to be reminded of his walk on the wild side, but being here, now, and seeing the unadulterated joy on his face, I see that my worries are for naught. He's happy that we're here, he's happy that I am here.

I can tell by his body language that he wants to come speak to us, but he's quickly grabbed by others and his attention wanes. I watch them speak in hushed tones, trying futilely to read their lips. He nods and there's that grin again. He casts another quick glance at me and shoots me a wink. My heart skips a beat.

"I saw that," my mother says with a smug smile. She's always been too intuitive for her own good. I believe that she was the first one to realize that something was going on between Oliver and I besides forced camaraderie.

"_Maman_," ! I hiss in French. Just because she is okay with her son having a homosexual relationship with a man seven years his senior, doesn't mean that everyone else would. Had we lived in America, Oliver could be serving time in jail for statutory rape right now, had someone found us out and reported it to the police.

"_Relissare," _she replies in Italian. _Relax. "Era solo uno scherzo." It was just a joke._

"Behave you two," Dad chides jokingly. He's always been very easy going, and I honestly can't remember ever having a disagreement or any harsh words with him, with Mom, neither. They've both been so good to me my whole life, supporting my dreams and goals and providing me with a privileged upbringing. The worst they've ever done to me is make me play piano for friends at one of their late night parties or wear a shirt I'm not fond of so that their friends can see that I appreciate the gifts they've given me.

Mom gives me a knowing smile and reaches for my hand, squeezing it tightly in her own. I imagine that she can feel my pulse hammering through my fingertips.

The priest takes his place on the altar and begins his religious spiel. I tune him out, instead, staring at Oliver, willing him to look my way again. He doesn't. All it would take is one blink from him and I'd proudly stand up and object, getting him out of this farce before he can make a mistake that I imagine he will regret for the rest of his life. _Look at me, Oliver! _I beseech silently. _Look at me, Elio!_

With a flourish, the bridal march begins and we all turn to watch as the doors to the church creep open to reveal the bride and her father. It's hard to make out much under her white veil, but it looks like she has dark brown, almost black, hair. Her skin is pale, but her eyes appear blue, sapphires amongst her face. She's pretty, I can tell that, and I can't quite blame him for wanting her. Had I seen her back home, before Oliver, I might have made a pass at her myself, or at least stared at her long enough to memorize her body enough to use for masturbatory purposes.

The bride slowly sashays down the aisle to Oliver. With each step, I can hear her sniffling, as tears cascade out of those beautiful blue eyes. I feel badly for wanting to hate her, because she is innocent in all of this. She knows nothing of the goings on at the villa, of his secret tastes and desires. Perhaps I am the only boy he's been with, or perhaps he's had his fair share, behind her back. Oliver isn't one to divulge too much personal information; the whole time that he was with us, he never mentioned having a sort-of girlfriend back home, nor did he mention his family or anything, really, about his background. He wears an air of mystery like a fedora, elegantly and in such a way that, on anyone else, it would look absolutely ridiculous, but on him is overwhelmingly charming.

The orchestration builds to a crescendo as she joins Oliver on the altar and after a quick hug and kiss with her father, flips her veil back.

Unobstructed, she is definitely more beautiful that I'd imagined. Somehow, that takes some of the sting away. If Oliver is going to be with someone who's not me, at least it's some so beautiful.

The priest launches into another barrage of religious scripture and I blank out. I imagine what it would feel like if it were me up there with Oliver instead of this woman. I already know that Oliver's dad wouldn't have supported our union, he'd said as much during our last phone conversation, but what about his mother? Obviously, my parents would be ecstatic, and I'm grateful for that.

I picture what it would feel like to be standing beside him, our hands clasped, desperate to exchange our vows and kiss. God, I miss the feel of his lips on mine, so strong, yet soft, a perfect dichotomy. And the wedding night, oh, the passion we'd express. We'd make love like it was our first time, except this time, we wouldn't have to be quiet for fear of my parents or the staff overhearing us. There would be no sense of shame or secrecy tied to the act. It would be nice.

The bride bawls her way through her vows and then Oliver starts on his. He doesn't say too much—some things never change—and for a brief second, I see his eyes flit toward me, meeting mine and I know that a part of him, I don't know how much, wishes that he were saying these words to me. My heart breaks a little again, adding one more irreparable crack to the foundation that is the source of my life. I suspect that one day when I die, the coroner will cut me open and examine my organs, and upon studying my heart, he will declare that I must have led a life of many heart aches, because my heart was covered in cracks, like weak ice.

Oliver finishes his vows and the priest asks if anyone has an objection to the union. My feet itch, my body dying to stand up and shout that I object, that the person that Oliver should be marrying is me, not her, but I sit there, paralyzed, my jaw clenched to keep the tears from spilling from my eyes. He would never forgive me if I ruined this for him. If he wanted the world to know that he enjoyed sex with men, he would be with a man now instead of her. I can't be the one to shatter the illusion that he's perfectly portrayed for these people for who knows how long.

They are announced as husband and wife and I look away before their lips meet. I can't bear to see him kiss another the way that he kissed me. I hear the collective applause from the others and stare down at my shoes.

Hand in hand, they walk down the aisle, the spectators throwing rice and confetti at them. The smile on Oliver's face is wide; he looks genuinely happy. Perhaps he really does love this woman, but what does that say of us? Of our time together? Was I simply an experiment? A distraction? Am I looking like a fool now, coming all this way just to learn that I mean nothing to him? But, if so, then why the meaningful glances my way? Why the shy smiles? Affairs of the heart are truly the most confounding thing about adulthood. How do we ever really know what someone else is thinking?

Suddenly, I feel bile rise in my throat and I stand up abruptly. I need to go now before I embarrass myself in front of the whole church.

"Elio, are you all right?" My mom's voice is laden with worry.

"I'm going to throw up!" I say, hurrying out of pew and down the aisle. I spot a restroom in the main room of the church and dive in. I just make it to the stall and lift the seat before my stomach purges itself. I haven't eaten much the last few days, so all that comes up is yellow bile, and it burns, making my eyes water and snot drip from my nose. I shouldn't have come here.

I puke a few times, struggling to breathe in between rounds. I'm not normally one to throw up when nervous or anxious, but apparently, today, I am. I suppose it is better than the alternative: my sporadic nose bleeds that I get when I'm under extreme pressure. I haven't had one since the day after Oliver and I made love the first time.

I hear the door creak open and the sound of dress shoes hitting the tile floor. It's probably my dad coming to make sure that I'm all right.

"Elio?" the voice isn't my dad's and I freeze, my eyes going wide. It's Oliver.

"Oliver?" I can't keep the surprise out of my voice.

"I saw you run out, are you okay?" He sounds so tender, so concerned.

"Yeah, I just, uh, it must have been something I ate," I lie, flushing the toilet.

"I'm coming in," he announces.

"No!" I shout, but it's too late. The door swings open and he's standing there, barely two feet away. I haven't even gotten a chance to rinse my mouth out.

We stand there awkwardly, facing each other, neither one of us saying anything. I think he knows the truth, that my puking is more to do with being upset than with anything that I might have eaten.

"I'm really glad you came today," he says, meeting my eyes.

"Are you?"

"Of course. You know how much you mean to me."

"Not enough, apparently," I mutter.

He sighs and shuts the door behind us. "Elio, don't do this, don't degrade what we had. Nothing lasts forever, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't appreciate what we had in the moment."

"How many?" I blurt, my voice constricted as my throat tightens.

"How many what?" He frowns in confusion.

"How many others have there been? Guys?"

He looks down at his feet for a second before meeting my gaze once more. "You're the only one."

"You're lying."

"No, I'm not. You, Elio Perlman, are the only man I have ever wanted."

"Then…why…?"

"Not everyone can be as brave as you are."

"Me? Brave?" I laugh bitterly. "I'm not brave! What we did, it terrified me. Opening myself up to you, giving myself to you, that terrified me! Everything to do with you terrifies me, Oliver!"

"I misspoke. What I meant was that I can't be that person. It was a nice vacation from myself, and I don't regret a minute of it, but that's all it was. I'm not brave enough to make it more."

"So, that's why you're marrying her? Because you can't admit that you're gay?"

"Am I?" He shrugs. "I've only ever been with you in that way. Maybe it was just you that made think and feel that way. No other guy has ever done that. You're like a siren, Elio, I'm helpless against your call."

"Then come back to me!"

His eyes grow sad. "I wish I could. I think that my life would be a lot easier if I was strong enough to be with you."

"I don't understand how you can care about me as much as you claim to, but marry someone else."

"You're still so young, nothing seems impossible to you. As you get older, you learn that things don't always go your way, that you can't always get what you want. There are things that are expected of you."

"Do you love her?"

He hesitates briefly, as if carefully choosing his words. "I care about her," he says finally. "It's not the same as what we had, but it's okay. She's a good woman, a kind woman."

"So, that's it? You and I are just done?"

"I don't think we'll ever truly be done, Elio. You pervaded my soul, stole a piece of my heart that I haven't gotten back. I don't think that I'll ever stop loving you."

"I'll never stop loving you," I clarify.

"Good, because I don't want you to." He crosses to me and seizes me, kissing me passionately. My eyes widen in protest, but then I lose myself in hips lips; all thoughts of wives and puke vanish from my mind. I moan low in my throat, pulling him closer.

Time seems to halt, our bodies intertwining as much as they can in the confined space of the stall.

"Oliver," he growls.

"Elio."

There is a knock at the door and we break apart; as soon as his lips are no longer I mine I feel empty.

"Are you all right, Elio?" I hear my dad ask through the door.

"Yeah, I'll be right out."

I run some water and swish with it, quickly wiping my face as Oliver straightens his tie in the mirror and tames his hair, which my fingers made a mess of.

"I'll go out first," I say, smiling sadly at him.

"Okay. Thanks."

"Don't mention it." I keep his gaze for a minute longer and then turn and walk out the bathroom. My dad is waiting, concern etched deeply in his face.

"Your mother and I were worried," he says.

"I'm fine, I just got sick to my stomach. I feel much better now."

"Okay."

The bathroom door opens and Oliver slinks out. My dad immediately spots him and looks between the two of us, arching an eyebrow. He knows that something went down in there. Oliver stares at him like a deer caught in headlights.

"Congratulations, Oliver!" my dad smiles and holds his hand out to Oliver.

"Thanks, Professor Perlman."

"Samuel, please, we're like family now," Dad insists.

"Samuel," Oliver corrects himself. "Where is Annella?" He looks around for my mother.

"Right here, darling," she coos, coming out of the crowd and hugging him. "_Congratulazioni_! She's beautiful!" She kisses him on both cheeks.

"Thanks! It was so good of you guys to come all of this way."

"Like I said, we're like family." Dad puts his arm around my shoulder, smiling proudly.

"I'm honored."

"Oliver?" His bride comes over. "There you are! I wondered where you'd disappeared to." She turns and takes us in. "I'm sorry, where are my manners? I'm Elizabeth!"

"Liz, these are the Perlmans, the ones I stayed with last summer in Italy while I finished my dissertation. "

Recognition flashes through her eyes. "The Perlmans, of course! It's so lovely to meet you all! Oliver talks about you _all the time."_

"Good things, I hope," Dad teases.

"Of course!"

Elizabeth shakes my parents' hands and then turns to me. "You must be Elio."

"Yes."

"I feel like I know you. Oliver tells me so much about you. You're precious! A beautiful pianist who transcribes music in his spare time."

"That's me."

"I'd love to hear you play some time. I've always wanted to learn to play, but I'm such an airhead I can't even play the kazoo."

I want to hate her, but I find her strangely endearing. It makes me feel better to know that Oliver talks about me, just apparently not enough to let the cat out of the bag. He'll save that for when he has his midlife crisis and has had too much to drink. I wonder where I'll be then, if I'll be alone, or if I'll welcome him home with open arms.

"How long are you guys here for?" Oliver asks my father.

"Unfortunately, not long. I have a lecture to give in Indiana tomorrow, so we just stopped in to show our love on your big day,"

"Where are you guys honeymooning?" Mom asks.

"We're heading to Bermuda tonight!" Elizabeth squeals. "I've always wanted to go, and now I get to share it with the man of my dreams. How lucky am I?"

"Very lucky," I say.

She looks at me and confusion mars her pretty face for a second before she waves it off. "It was so nice of you to come. I haven't met much of Oliver's family, but now I feel like I have!"

"It's our pleasure," my mother purrs. She's always been a social person, always knowing what to say and when. I, on the other hand, am socially awkward to the point of mortification.

"I have to go say hi to my aunts and uncles, but it was lovely to meet you," Liz says.

"You, too," Dad says.

Elizabeth scurries off, a ball of excitement and Oliver shakes his head, a smile creeping at his lips. "She's definitely exuberant," he declares.

"She'll be a good wife," Dad assures him. "You've done well, Oliver."

"_Molto bene,"_ Mom agrees. She clears her throat, "Sam, why don't we give Oliver and Elio a moment alone?"

"Good idea." Dad claps Oliver on the shoulder affectionately and they make their way away from us.

"Why do I get the feeling that they wish it was you and I getting married here today?" Oliver asks quietly.

"They might with that, I know I do." I feel no shame at admitting this. After everything that he and I have shared, this is nothing.

"Me, too," he admits. "I wish that things could be different for us."

"Maybe one day they can be," I suggest.

"Maybe." He sighs. "God, I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too."

We stay in silence for a few moments and then I say, "I hope you're happy, Oliver. I really do."

"I'm all right. You?"

"I'm getting there."

He nods sadly, knowing that he's hurting me and there's nothing that can be done about it. Some things are worth getting your heart broken for.

"Well, I should get back to my wedding," he says, drawing the words out. I know he doesn't want to go, but duty calls.

"We're probably going to get going."

"I wish you could stay a little while longer."

"So do I."

"I'll call," he promises.

"I'll answer." I lean in to give him a hug.

He hold me back, tight, as if not wanting to let me go. "Goodbye, Oliver," he whispers in my ear.

"Goodbye, Elio," I reply, choking the words out.

He pulls away and hold my gaze for a few seconds before turning and walking away. I watch his back until he's lost in the sea of wedding guests.

So, this is what it truly feels like to have your heart broken. My eyes are blurry, but I find my way to my parents, who are both watching me.

"Did you tell him what you needed to tell him?" my dad asks softly.

"I think so," I choke out. "I said everything I felt."

"That's all that matters," Mom assures me, rubbing my shoulder. "Do you want to stay a little while longer?"

"No." I shake my head. "One more minute and I'd do something I'll regret. Let's leave them in peace."

Dad nods in understanding and pushes the door open. As I'm walking out, I can't resist the urge to turn back and look one last time. As if by magic, the crowd thins out and I spot Oliver and Elizabeth talking to an older couple. Oliver glances my way and gives me an infinitesimal nod. I return the nod and turn back, walking away from the man I love, leaving him to his new life.

I hope that one day, we'll find each other again and things will be different, that we can be together, but if not, there will always be the precious memories that we made that summer long ago, the summer that I learned the true meaning of love and openness.


End file.
